


Of Monsters and Men

by MsThunderFrost



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Bilbo Is Not Okay, Blood and Violence, Consort Bilbo Baggins, Established Relationship, Gold Sickness (Tolkien), Hopeful Ending, Hurt Bilbo Baggins, Hurt/Comfort, King Thorin, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Murder, Nightmares, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnant!Bilbo Violently Attacked, Protective Thorin, Thorin Feels, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 21:06:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18786217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsThunderFrost/pseuds/MsThunderFrost
Summary: Thorin will protect Bilbo from everything. Even if that includes himself.





	Of Monsters and Men

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING(s): This fic opens with a violent attack on a pregnant individual with intent to kill both the baby and the mother. I've tried my best to indicate this in the tags, but please proceed with caution!

“T-Thorin…?” Bilbo stares at his husband, the dwarf’s chiseled features eerily illuminated by the silver of the blade he clutches in his left hand. His smile makes the hobbit’s blood run cold.

He inhales slowly, his dark eyes fluttering as he murmurs, “Oh, little one…your fear is absolutely _intoxicating_.” He cocks his head to the side, “You betrayed me, Bilbo. Did you really think that bastard festering inside your womb would be enough to save your pathetic life?”

Bilbo flinches, “I know…I know that this isn’t really you. The real Thorin would _never_ threaten the lives of his family-,”

“Is that what you think we are? _Family_?” Thorin laughs, “You poor, misguided fool…You were only ever a means to an end, the sacrificial lamb. Nobody expected you to return from that treasure vault. Not even Balin.”

“No…” he breathes, voice scarcely above a whisper.

Thorin leans in, lips brushing against the shell of Bilbo’s ear as he drawls, “It’s almost laughable, how easy it was to get between your legs. All I had to do was throw a few scraps of approval your way and you were practically on your knees, _gagging_ for it.”

The hobbit sniffles wetly, and is more than slightly ashamed by the tears that have begun to pour from his eyes. “Y-You told me that you loved me…” he stares up into Thorin’s eyes, waiting for him to say that this was all just a cruel joke…

“Ridiculous.” There is a wet _squelch_ , and blood, so dark it is almost black, splatters across Thorin’s alabaster face…

Pain. It registers in Bilbo’s brain a little at a time, as if his nerve endings are frozen in a similar state of shock…He lowers his eyes to see the hilt of Thorin’s blade protruding from his rounded belly. Thorin has stabbed him. His hands fly to his belly belatedly as blood begins to seep through his soft, cotton nightgown. Another white-hot flash of pain, and blood, hot and thick, begins to ooze down his bare thighs, and it is with the realization that Thorin intends to dispose of _both_ of them as if they were the same orc-scum that had killed his grandfather that Bilbo begins to _wail_ …

A hand grips his shoulder, shaking him violently and he begins to cough, mucus and blood clogging his throat and making it next to impossible to draw breath. He vaguely registers someone calling his name, but all he can see is Thorin’s face contorted in manic glee as he watches the life fade from the little hobbit still dangling off of his blade. Thorin is laughing, and it sounds nothing like the rich tenor that he has come to love…this is high and manic and disorienting, and it only grows louder as Thorin rips the sword from his belly and moves to take off the hobbit’s head…

A stinging pain rips through his face and his eyes snap open. The first thing he sees is Thorin, nightgown askew, hair thoroughly disheveled, and looking close to tears as he looms over Bilbo’s frame…thankfully sans-sword. “Bilbo, amrâlimê…you were having a nightmare.”

Bilbo swallows hard, “A…nightmare?”

Thorin slumps back onto his side of the bed, looking completely exhausted, “You were screaming, clutching your belly…I was so worried, I’d thought…” the King trails off, not wanting to think on the sickening terror he’d felt when he’d thought Bilbo was losing the baby. “But then, you started calling my name, begging me to stop…”

“Thorin…” Bilbo realizes that, somewhere along the line, the King under the Mountain has _actually_ started to cry. Frantically, he searches for a kerchief. “Please, you don’t understand-,”

“I am your husband, amrâlimê…I am the last person you should ever have to fear hurting you, even in your dreams.” Thorin cannot help but smile as the flustered hobbit shoves a kerchief into his hands—ever the dutiful lover.

The brunette shakes his head, “I’m not afraid of you, Thorin.”

Thorin offers a shaky smile, “Say what you will. But I have given you reason enough to fear me, little one. I have not respected you as I ought. Time after time, I’ve placed you in danger without care for your life. I would have let you face the dragon alone to save my own hide.” And then, softer, “I would have dropped you to your death…”

“And yet I am here, lying beside you still.” Bilbo says.

“I believe that less of a testament to why you should not fear me and more a reminder of your almost non-existent self-preservation skills, Master Hobbit.” Thorin quips.

Perhaps there is a small part of him that is fearful of Thorin, despite knowing that the only reason he acted as he did was because of the gold-sickness. They’d never really had a proper discussion about everything that had transpired before the battle, save for what Thorin had believed was a deathbed apology. Once it was clear that Thorin was going to live, Bilbo had told him about the baby and the weeks thereafter had been a blur of festivities—there’d been a week-long feast held in honor of their engagement, followed by the wedding, then the baby shower…

He wants to reassure Thorin that he knew that, under normal circumstances, the dwarf would _never_ hurt him. He _knows_ that Thorin loves him—he may not have before Smaug, before the battle…but as he clutched the dying King’s hand and stared into his eyes, he could _feel_ it. But it certainly helped that, in the days to follow, Bilbo had hovered at his sickbed borderline obsessively. One of the times that Thorin had awakened, near delirious with fever, he’d mistaken Bilbo for a pain-induced hallucination and had confessed his regret that the man he loved would be much too fearful to come so close after everything that had happened…

Thorin makes to climb off the bed, likely mistaking Bilbo’s prolonged silence as agreement with Thorin’s claims. Gripped with a sudden panic, the hobbit reaches out and latches onto Thorin with all of his strength—which admittedly isn’t much when compared to the dwarven warrior, but he knows that Thorin understands the meaning behind the gesture when he sinks back down onto the mattress with a soft sigh. His shoulders tremble slightly as the tears continue to fall, and he ducks his head forward to hide the tear tracts from Bilbo’s sight. The hobbit presses a kiss to the side of his dwarf’s neck.

“I fear I will not be able to sleep again tonight without you by my side.” He murmurs.

“You would so readily accept a monster into your bed?” Thorin asks. There is no malice in his tone—if anything, there is a sort of self-deprecating humor that makes Bilbo’s heart hurt.

Bilbo knows better than to try and fight Thorin when he is like this. So instead, he smiles softly and decides to play along, “Who is better suited to chase the dream-demons away?” He implores.

Thorin sighs, but eventually twists around so that he might take Bilbo into his arms again. He settles them back down onto the bed, the linens damp with sweat from Bilbo’s nightmare, and yanks the furs back up over their bodies, “Are you absolutely sure about this-,”

Bilbo blinks sleepily, burrowing his head down onto Thorin’s chest and murmuring, “Ask me if I want you here one more time and I’ll find a way to enchant that pretty mouth of yours shut. Permanently.”

Thorin’s grip upon him tightens marginally, and he is silent for a long while before stating, “What I almost did that day…it was the single greatest mistake I have ever made in my life, and I will regret it until the day I return to the stone.” He kisses Bilbo’s crown of golden-brown curls, “Forever and a day is not long enough for me to prove to you how sorry I am.”

“I know.” Bilbo says, half-asleep. He does not tell him that it is okay, because it isn’t, and he doesn’t know if it ever will be. But he _does_ know that he loves Thorin, and nothing will ever change that. “I love you, my King.”

A single tear courses down Thorin’s cheek and is lost in the tangled mess of Bilbo’s hair. “I love you, too, little one.”


End file.
